


Playing

by sparxwrites



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Collars, Foot Fetish, Kittenplay, M/M, Petplay, Spanking, mckirk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:52:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Jim Kirk is a cat.</p>
<p>(In which Jim and Bones occasionally indulge in petplay, Jim is a little shit, and Bones has really, really had enough.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greensister--inthelibrary](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=greensister--inthelibrary).



> My first foray into the Star Trek fandom and it’s McKirk petplay. ;A; Forgive me, please. Anyway, sort of a present for [greensister--inthelibrary](greensister--inthelibrary.tumblr.com) on tumblr for giving me the idea for this and being generally fabulous. Enjoy!

Sometimes, Jim Kirk is a cat.

It’s something Bones is opposed to - he’s pointed out repeatedly that Jim’s really more of a dog. Dopey grin, fluffy hair, eager-to-please with people he likes, boundless energy… The leap from ‘Jim’ to ‘golden retriever’ isn’t a big one, as far as he’s concerned, especially when he sees Jim on his knees.

Jim is having none of it, though, and (in a display of stubbornness that Bones is almost willing to concede makes a strong point in favour of the cat argument) had absolutely insisted that he was both majestic and catlike, so cat it was.

He thinks, as he watches Jim, ears twitching and tail flicking absently from side to side behind him, that his tentative boyfriend should really, really be grateful he’s hooking up with a doctor. Although the neuro-implants and skin-site bonding techniques that allow the fake body parts to blend seamlessly onto Jim’s skin are relatively well-established practice on Earth, they’re mostly permanent or semi-permanent affairs, because few people other than doctors are capable of attaching them. Because he’s a doctor, they can put them on at the beginning of a session and take them off at the end (although it’s twenty minutes of Jim complaining and Bones growling at him to  _stay still, damnit_!), which is a good think because he suspects Starfleet might ask questions if their golden-boy commander suddenly started wearing a tail.

Currently, Jim the cat is curled up at the end of Bones’ bed, batting cheerfully at his toes in a lazy, half-assed way as the doctor tries to concentrate on his PADD and the itinerary for the med bay, in time for their restocking when they dock in Earth orbit for repairs (Jim managed to bust up the ship. Again. Not as badly as the Nero or Khan incidents, but even so).

Bones rolls his eyes, and then shivers as a tongue runs its way from his heel all the way up to the tip of his big toe, wet and rasping. He’s still not worked out if Jim has a foot fetish, if it’s some kind of thing he does in cat mode, or whether he’s just worked out that Bones’s feet are particularly ticklish and is being a little shit about it.

He suspects it’s the third option, to be honest.

He puts up with it right up until teeth fasten around his little toe and bite down just a  _tad_  too hard. “Off, off, you damn pest,” he growls, planting a foot gently in Jim’s face and pushing until he falls neatly off the end. “You’re only allowed up on the bed if you’re gonna behave yourself, understand?”

There’s a vague, hissing noise from under the bed that Bones interprets as  _fuck you_.

It’s really no skin off his nose, though, if Jim wants  sit under the bed and sulk – which he does, frequently, when they do this. Bones is pretty sure sitting in the darkened, enclosed space and knowing someone is sat above him and keeping watch is some kind of relaxation or de-stressing thing, even though Jim vigorously denies it.

What he does have a problem with, though, is the loud and irritating yowling that starts up after a minute of Bones ignoring him in silence. Apparently, Jim is in as-obnoxious-as-possible mode at the moment, not that that’s anything new, considering it seems his default at least half the time when they do this. Default or not, though, he’s looking to get his ass smacked, because whilst Bones is perfectly happy to indulge him, he is  _not_  happy to have some stroppy little kitten disrupting his relaxation time.

With a growl of annoyance, Bones puts down his PADD and slides off the bed, dropping to his knees by the side of it and bending until his shoulders nearly touch the ground so he can see under it, head twisted sideways and eyes narrowed as he squints against the gloom.

“C’mon, brat,” he mumbles, reaching out to where Jim is curled as far away from him as possible, sprawled low to the floor to stop from hitting his head on the bed slats above him. “Come here!” He’s utterly unsurprised when Jim just hisses at him again, lips peeled back and teeth bared, but it gives him the opportunity to curl fingers under the soft, black leather of his collar with only a slight graze of his teeth to his wrist.

When they’re doing this, Jim doesn’t pull his punches. Bones’s had teeth marks impressed onto his skin in the shape of Jim’s dental records that have stayed for days before.

“Gotcha,” he grunts, tugging, and although Jim spits and snarls and digs fingers into the floor he still gets dragged out from under the bed and into Bones’s lap, pinned there by a circle of tight arms. He gets nails dragged across his chest and down his arms for his troubles, and they hurt even though the plain black undershirt he’s wearing. “Damnit, Jim, stop it!”

Unsurprisingly, Jim refuses to stop, and it’s only when his nails catch Bones across the face and he gets his hair pulled sharply and a furious, “ _Enough!_ ” for his troubles that he pauses, lowering his hands into his lap and peering up at Bones with wide eyes. The caramel-coloured ears on top of his head flick anxiously, flattening against his hair. Behind him, his tail stops lashing about and coils loosely at the base of his spine, waiting.

Bones sighs and mutters, “Finally,” gingerly releaseing the tight hold of his arms around Jim, slowly, in case he starts acting up again. Nothing happens, thank god, and he allows the look of relief on his face to morph into one of despair. “I’ve told you before, no scratching,” he warns Jim gruffly, one hand curled tight around the back of his collar – sadly, he doesn’t have a scruff to hold him by, so the thick strip of leather is the next best thing. “I swear, I’m gonna whup your ass so hard-”

In his lap, Jim grins, squirming a little, and his ears prick up. Bones groans, quietly.

“Up!” he snaps, shoving Jim off his legs, knowing he’s been beautifully manipulated by his bratty little pet and somehow finding it difficult to care. “Up, up on the bed you ridiculous beast.” He stands up reluctantly, stretches a little, watches with an admiring eye and Jim scrambles onto the bed on all fours, tail lashing around again, but in excitement this time.

“You’re about to get the spanking of your life, kid, I’m telling you…” he mutters, stepping forward so his knees are against the edge of the bed, Jim’s appealingly naked ass within easy reach. His kitten purrs, arching his back in an almost obscene fashion until his chest is pressed against the bed and his behind high in the air.

Bones grins. “On three,” he says, “One-” and brings his hand down, as hard as he can. As Jim yowls in pain and surprise, entire body jolting, he can’t help but laugh – sometimes, his pet forgets that he’s not the only one that can be manipulative.


End file.
